He called her on her home phone in the afternoon; he was bringing dinner to her home the following day.
Adelaide immediately called her usual salon for a wax and to get her nails done. She was feeling a bit giddy, like she was tipsy. She remembered the feeling; it was horrible and great at the same time, being in love.
SsSs
Hannibal had already done a background check on his lover, but now he was looking for something specific. He checked local British newspaper archives, blogs, everything he could find. His search was rewarded after a while by a golden article, or rather tragic, he didn't care.
"Daughter orphaned after local businessman burns to death in home."
He smiled to himself as he read, his speculations confirmed.
"19 year old escaped the flames – father trapped –"
He met the word trauma four times in the article. Hannibal sat back in his chair, his hand resting underneath his chin as he thought. Again, his eyes found the unfolded photograph lying spastically on his desk.
SsSs
They had a pleasant dinner and had been chatting idly for a while before Hannibal asked Adelaide for a tour of her studio.
SsSs
Adelaide lead him into her studio and when she seemed unsure as to where to start the tour he asked what meaning the sculpture of the two fighting stags held, his hands were clasped behind his back like before.
"It's nothing deep, really..." she hesitated. "I saw them in a dream, and it bothered me so much that I made them."
He nodded as he combed over the chaotic content of the room again. Adelaide turned to move a chair out of the way and Hannibal took his chance to slip the folded photograph from his pocket, his hand hovered above the table where he first found it until she turned around. His action appeared natural, like he'd just discovered it but he was privately gauging her reaction.
She acted quickly, just as he predicted and slipped the photo in her brassiere where he assumed she had held it before.
Very messy, he thought. She would do well to be more careful about something so crucial. But of course, the signature of an amateur was unmistakable.
As if nothing had happened she continued showing him the unfinished work of the burning city, explaining that it was based on a photo she took in Florence a few months ago. She was talking a beat faster than usual.
The elephant was steadily growing larger in the room, he knew she felt it's presence too because he noticed the distinct red glow so familiar on her features, rising yet again.
It was almost humorous.
SsSs
"Why don't you take a seat, Adelaide." Hannibal suggested firmly, calmly.
They were back in her sitting room, having just exited the studio. He'd appeared genuinely interested in all her work even though he'd already inspected most of them on his previous visit.
She seemed surprised but took a seat on the awkward sofa in front of the empty hearth.
Hannibal picked up a green velvet armchair and set it down facing her. He kept his gaze level, locked with hers as he sat down. The house was silent and he waited a moment before he spoke.
"Tell me about your mother."
Adelaide frowned a moment, perhaps caught off guard.
"She died when I was 10. She was a nurse."
"How coincidental," Hannibal smiled. "My mother used to be a nurse too."
"Oh... she's deceased too then?" she faltered, not really asking a question. "I can't remember that much about her, I only know her face from pictures."
"How about your father?"
"What about him?" She asked, keeping her features neutral.
"Tell me about him."
"I – ah – he owned a bookshop."
"He's deceased?"
"Yes."
"I see..." Hannibal took a deep breath and chewed the inside of his cheek.
"What?" Adelaide asked, her brows drawn.
Hannibal sat forward, his elbows now resting on his knees and one thumb on the corner of his lips. He made the moment of silence longer, quietly testing the water.
"I know." He looked into her pale eyes. "I know what you did Adelaide."
"I don't understand." She said, her hands subtly twisting in her lap.
"Come now, you know what I'm referring to."
"I don't." She kept up, becoming more defensive.
"You killed him."
Her mouth fell open, her eyes widened.
It took her a while to get her bearings enough to talk again.
"What? How-"
Hannibal raised his hand, cutting her off.
"The photograph you took... and kept... that wasn't a smart move."
She stayed silent.
"Don't worry, Adelaide." He placed a reassuring hand on her knee, his eyes earnest. "I'm not to condemn you, I just want to know the truth. The truth no one else knows"
Silence.
"Why did you take the photograph?"
It took her another while.
"I... I never wanted to forget his face... when..."
"Yes?" He prodded softly.
"This is incriminating."
Hannibal sank to his haunches in front of her so he was lower than her.
He lifted a hand to trace her jaw with two fingers, his hand dipped down her neck and to her chest; down the line of her cleavage and into the long black dress she wore. He retrieved the folded parcel from her brassiere and held it between his two fingers like a bartender's tip.
"This is incriminating."
SsSs
He listened carefully as she told him about her father. She reminded him of the first night he met her – when he coaxed the cat to drop the toe.
Abusive father, long deceased mother, fed up daughter.
"I broke the cycle, I couldn't take it anymore." Her eyes bored into his as she broke the final confession and stood up. He watched her pace up and down, long black skirts swirling slightly. Her hand slid up to a knife on the kitchen counter she passed. He sat back, his legs crossed with his fingers steepled in front of him, pondering her recollection.
Adelaide picked up the knife and turned, the handle hung loosely in her palm. She returned, standing in front of him and touching his knee, then pushing his leg from the other.
She slid onto his lap, her knees pushing deep into the plush cushion of the chair as she straddled him with her hips. Silence enveloped them once again and their eyes ate at each other. He kept the knife in attention and even though he did not expect an attack of any sort, he kept his hands free just in case. She was close, her light scent surrounded him and, he found, excited him.
Hannibal observed a hint of arrogance festering in her eyes and to his surprise, she grinned despite of what she had just shared.
As quick as it came, her smile disappeared.
"I think..." She started. "You want to know how it happened."
He did want to know, very much so, but she shouldn't know that he wanted to know. Should she? Did it matter?
Hannibal chose to say nothing; he did cock his head to the side though, giving nothing of his burning away.
She bought the knife around, her grip still slack and pressed the tip gently against his sternum.
"He came to me," she breathed in her lightly accented voice, her flushed lips parted slightly.
"He touched me -" The tip of the blade traced down to his stomach.
"- and I gutted him," she paused and added an afterthought – "like a pig."
"But you couldn't leave without remembering his face."
"I was stupid."
"Young." He corrected, "You need to destroy your souvenir now, Adelaide." He paused.
"What did you do then?" He already knew the answer, but it was better that she didn't know that.
"I burned down his sty." Her voice was steady.
Hannibal smiled at her; she was watching him with dark lidded eyes smouldering like embers stolen from an eternal fire. He bought his hand to her neck, feeling her pulse flutter with twin fingers. He caressed her cheek like a reward.
Adelaide tightened her grip on the knife, turning it into a weapon.
"Take off your tie."
He felt a jolt of anticipation and did as she asked, choosing to enjoy this original moment unfolding between them.
"Your waistcoat... and shirt."
Hannibal complied with the wishes of the woman holding the knife against him, deciding that he did indeed like this games they played.
He'd never dreamed that he would ever feel the way he did now.
She traced the blade up again, leaving a slight white line of pressure on his skin. He closed his hand over her small one holding the weapon and wrenched it from her grip.
"Get up."
SsSs
He stood behind her, her back pressed into his chest, the knife rested at her carotid artery before he moved it to cut the left shoulder of her dress and then the right. The material flopped over, revealing her bare breasts, the nipples hardening in the colder air.
"Take it off." He commanded coolly near her ear. She tugged the material at her hips and the dress gave way, pooling at their feet. He noticed her lack of underwear and all it implied but chose not to comment. The blade slowly slid between her breasts, he was admiring the marks where he'd broken her skin before, the tissue healing into temporary scars.
He pressed harder, beads of blood popping up as he cut into the pallid skin of her torso. She gasped and her body turned rigid in his embrace. Hannibal smelled blood and wicked arousal, he closed his eyes.
If it were anyone else...
He pushed her hair aside to better see the silky strings of blood running to her hips and dripping over her navel. Her breath hitched at his ear, she'd bent her neck back and her hands had come up behind his head, holding him closer.
He dropped the knife and turned her to face him.
Hannibal bent his lips to her chest, tasting the blood streaking down.
Would you like me to continue this one? R&R!